Kidnapped
by Iliketomoveitmoveit
Summary: The curse never happened. Snow and Charming made a deal with Rumple similar to the one Cinderella made. Emma is an orphan, barmaid and thief living in a secluded part of King George's kingdom. One night she is kidnapped by Killian Jones, who is yet to (but will!) lose his hand or captain the Jolly Roger. Eventual CaptainSwan! And the rating may change to M.
1. Chapter 1

Emma slunk down the side of the tavern and ducked under the heavy beam fencing of the outside courtyard. The alley behind the tavern was dark, and smelt distinctly of vomit and urine. Dodging a particularly questionable area of muddy alleyway, she made her way away from the town center and headed west, towards the harbour. The streets were brightly lit outside the safety of alley, but Emma, who was dressed in faded black leathers and had wrapped a black scarf around her hair and face, moved through the town like a shadow. If anyone was up at that hour they would be hard pressed to spot her.

There was barely any movement at the docks; a sign that boded well for Emma. The moon was almost full and sitting high and bright in the sky, it's silver light reflecting brilliantly off the calm water. Several ships sat in the harbour, sails drawn, bobbing serenely with each passing undercurrent. Still and silent watchmen graced several of the boats, but most seemed empty, their sailors undoubtedly seeking pleasures of some form in the town behind her. Emma crouched in the shadow of a large crate and scanned the flags. Most were pirate ships, which wasn't unusual for this part of the kingdom. This town, and the towns surrounding it, lay cut off from the rest of the Kingdom by a large mountain range, and King George rarely paid much attention to this little spot of the world. It cost the miserly King far too much to actively govern an area of land that reaped him few rewards, so, apart from the bi-annual tax collection, King George left them to their own amusements. And in his absence all manner of illicit and unlawful activities had flourished.

Emma spotted her target. A reasonably innocuous looking ship, docked away from the bulk of ships, it flew no colours and seemed deserted. The ship was shrouded in dark, which meant that she could easily sneak on and off the vessel without anyone noticing. This would be a quick job. In and out. Home in time to get some rest before her shift at the tavern started. She adjusted her scarf, making sure every strand of her blonde hair was hidden and did a quick pat down of her weapons; a small dagger in her left boot, a larger dagger strapped to her right thigh and a hunting knife strapped to her left one, a small blade hidden in her right sleeve and a dagger strapped to her chest. She was loathe to use the weapons, preferring her fists and feet because she could control the amount of damage inflicted. A misplaced slash and she could kill a man. A misplaced kick, and the damage would be far less.

She was about to stand and head for the ship when she heard muted voices coming from somewhere to her left. Emma crouched down lower and did her best to melt into the shadows. It was likely a drunk, coming back from whatever tavern or whore he had recently vacated but it wasn't worth the risk. She would wait. She was good at waiting. The voices died down and just as Emma was about to move they returned, louder and greater in number than before. The party sounded like four or five men, speaking with far more lucidity than she would have liked. And they were getting closer. She considered her options. Run, stay and hide, or take out her hair and flirt her way out of it. The last option was a last resort. There was always a chance that someone would remember her and take an interest in her, but it had worked her before so she wasn't quick to dismiss it. Before she could decide the men came into view, four of them, swords out and pointed at three bound and gagged captives. This wasn't a new sight to Emma. The men were probably slave traders, but slavers were worse than pirates in Emma's book. Their bribes were steeper, they were less interested in booze and sex and if they got tired of you (and they tired quickly) they would simply knock you out and cart you off to be sold. Emma had to tread carefully in this situation. If the slavers spotted her she would be easily outnumbered.

She watched, hardly breathing, as the slavers and captives passed her and headed towards the ship she had been targeting. Emma counted her luck. Had she been aboard that ship when the slavers returned things for her would have been grim.

The men disappeared into shadow and Emma made her move, creeping quickly and silently along the length of the crate, eyes darting back and forth checking her footing and the slaver ship behind her. In her preoccupation she failed to notice the oddly corporeal shadow detach from a nearby crate and move in her direction, until she bumped into something solid and lost her foot. She didn't cry out, years of practice ensured that, but she gasped as the shadow reached out and stayed her fall. The scarf slipped from her face and fluttered innocently to the ground. The shadow reached down to retrieve it and Emma saw a large male hand, adorned with rings before it was quickly returned to the dark.

Emma stared wide-eyed and cautious at the man, all senses alert. He released her hand and returned her scarf. She wrapped it around her neck but didn't bother to cover her face again.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. The man was unnervingly silent and Emma desperately willed her wits back. This was a dangerous situation and she couldn't afford to lose her head.

"What are you doing here?" the man said quietly.

"Going for a walk," she responded automatically. "Not against the law, is it?" Vaguely, she registered that she shouldn't be making smart remarks at a time like this.

The man chuckled softly. "No, it isn't. But technically the slave trade is." The man's tone was conversational but to Emma he couldn't have said anything more threatening. He knew she saw the slavers and most certainly wasn't going to let her go now. She couldn't understand why he hadn't attacked her yet.

She decided to make the first move.

In one simultaneous movement, she unsheathed the dagger at her thigh and swiped at his chest, forcing him to jerk back and raise his arms in an unconscious movement of self defense. She grasped one of his raised hands and twisted the wrist around putting painful pressure on the shoulder socket and elbow. The dagger slipped out of her hand and clattered to the ground. She attempted to push him against the crate and coerce him to stay there at dagger point but he was stronger than she anticipated. Almost instantly he had twisted out of her grasp and had her in the exact position she had envisioned for him.

"Not quick enough, lass," he breathed into her ear. Emma grunted against the pain and attempted to push back, but he was simply too strong and his hold on her was far superior to the self-taught technique that had served her so well in the past with petty criminals and drunks. This man was clearly well trained. "Weapons. Where are they?"

"Go to hell," she retorted, earning a vicious twist to her wrist.

"That's no language for a lady," said the man in a mock shock. She struggled against his grip. "Now, now, no need to make things difficult, love. I've already found that impressive hunting knife you had strapped to that gorgeous thigh of yours. I can imagine a lass like you to have weapons hidden," his voice dropped to a velvet purr "everywhere."

Emma was distracted from the pain for a moment. This creep was flirting with her. She'd been pinned to walls by men before, but they usually leered and drooled and made crass, overtly sexual comments. And they were usually drunkards. This man, apart from the faint tint of rum on his breath, was sober and, for some bewildering reason, trying to flatter her.

"Go to hell," she growled.

The man sighed theatrically. "Very well then, strip search it is!" Removing one hand from her twisted wrist, he began to brush his fingers over the top of her trousers.

"Don't you dare touch me, you bastard," she spat viciously at him. Or at least with as much venom as she could conjure with her face squished against the side of a crate.

"Touchy," he said lightly, fingers hooking onto her trousers and slipping them down slightly.

"Get the fuck off me, you pervert. There's a knife in my left boot and one in my sleeve."

"Now, that wasn't so hard was it?" he reprimanded her lightly. Keeping her pinioned against the wall, he removed the two blades from their hiding places and let them clatter to the ground. Vaguely, she wondered why nobody had come to investigate all the noise they were making but couldn't focus on the problem enough with a large man attempting to slowly wrench her shoulder from its socket. "Are there any more?"

"No" she lied, acutely aware of her one remaining dagger digging painfully into her ribs.

"No?" he asked, fingers resuming their slow removal of her trousers.

"No!" she said adamantly, and evidently he believed her because he hitched her trousers back to their rightful place and let her go.

She whipped around and swung a fist at his head. He reached up easily and caught it.

"Stop that," he said, sounding vaguely annoyed. "I overpowered you once, unarmed, and I can do it again. Don't be stupid."

Glaring, she tugged her hand back.

"What do you want?" she demanded, for the second time that night. Her eyes darted down to where her weapons lay disposed not inches from her feet.

"I'm quicker and stronger than you," said the man, evidently catching her glance. "Don't even try it. Now, let's get to the point. You saw my men take prisoners aboard my ship."

Emma silently debated lying.

"Yes."

"That's a shame."

The man shifted closer.

"Why's that?" said Emma, trying to ignore the growing feeling of dread that threatened her.

"Because I hoped to keep my actions tonight a secret. We planned everything so that we could get the prisoners aboard my ship with no one noticing. What we didn't account for, however, was a beautiful, leather-clad thief spying on us."

"And what does that mean for me?"

"Either I kill you or I kidnap you," said the man pleasantly. "I can't risk you running off and telling everyone what you've seen tonight."

Emma made a split second decision. She threw herself to the side and sprinted away from the man, unaware of which direction she was going in or if her way following her. She didn't make it far however. She tripped over something solid and went sprawling to the ground.

"You was takin' too long, Cap'tn, so I thought I'd wrap things up fer yeh."

Dazed, Emma blinked and rolled over. She had landed heavily on her wrist and from the level of pain she was almost certain it was broken. The dagger at the chest had slipped free of its bindings and cut her. Hot blood soaked her cotton undershirt. A man far broader than the first stood over her. He was wearing an odd assortment of clothes; a stained dark blue shirt, leather riding pants that looked fairly new and boots that had been patched up countless times. His unshaven appearance and weathered complexion told her he was a pirate. Slavers were land based, using sea travel as a means to an end, rather than a way of life. And there was something unsettling about the idea of pirates acting as slavers.

"I was handling it, Jogan!" said the first man angrily. "Return to the ship!"

"Aye, Cap'tn," the second man mumbled morosely, and Emma could hear him lumber off.

Emma stared up at the man, seeing him in the light for the first time that night. He was dressed, like herself, primarily in leather, with a long leather coat, soft leather pants and high leather boots. His vest was the most sumptuous part of his ensemble, and was clearly of expensive made. The shirt he wore underneath was black. Around his neck were several long, gaudy necklaces, rings adorned his fingers and on his right wrist were several silver bracelets. At his hip was an empty sheath. He was a handsome man, with a quirk to his lips even when he wasn't smiling, at least a weeks stubble covered his cheeks and under thick eyebrows sat wickedly mischievous eyes that she could tell, even in the gloom, were blue. Upon seeing his appearance, the flirting made more sense. Here was a man that was clearly used to using his good looks and charm to get his way, and have girls simpering over him with a few honeyed words.

Well, Emma wasn't impressed.

"You're injured," he noted, feigning concern with surprising credibility.

"I'm fine," Emma snapped, trying to sit up and failing when her her wrist exploded with agony.

"Well, at least this will make it easier for me to get you back to the ship without fuss," the man joked. Before she could retort, he swooped down and lifted her into his arms. The sudden movement, blood loss and the pain she was feeling from both her wrist and the cut at her chest overwhelmed her, and she succumbed to blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

The slavers market was something Emma had never imagined existed, although on reflection she was unsurprised that it did. Before stepping ashore on a little cove and being led up, hands and feet bound, to what could only be described as a human marketplace, Emma had thought the slave trade occurred in secret; transactions, meetings and deals taking place in the utmost confidence. But here it was a cacophony of sound as slavers shouted the price of their wares, each trying to outdo his neighbour. Slaves of all shapes and sizes stood morosely on display; chained together and without hope of escape. Emma tried to look into their eyes as she was dragged through the marketplace. What she saw there did not bode well. Those that caught her glance seemed desolate in will and those that did not...well, she feared for those the most.

Buyers strode among the rows of slaves, listening to the slavers calls, occasionally stopping to examine the goods or haggle down a price. The buyers shocked Emma the most. She had expected rough-looking pirates, and seedy merchants seeking free labour, but there were buyers of all classes here. Rich and poor alike, the seemingly trust- and untrust- worthy sought to purchase slaves. Emma was disgusted at how far the arm of slavery reached.

They were brought to a halt at a small stall near the far edge of the marketplace. It was nothing more than a few poles supporting a ragged canvas, and a crudely made wooden table. One of the pirates, whom Emma had come to know as Smee, wrapped the end of their shared chain around a peg in the ground.

"Stay," he said, removing the red cap from his head, setting it on the table and leaving them guarded by two imposing looking pirates wielding cutlasses.

Emma glanced at the man chained next to her. He was half a head taller than her, with wavy brown hair, mottled green eyes and stubble that had gone too long without a trim. Doing her best to be discreet, she turned her head slightly and whispered to him.

"Hey," she muttered, glancing at their guards to make sure they remained unheard. "I'm Emma."

The man too glanced at their guards, his eyes wary.

"Graham," he replied, his voice low and accented.

Emma smiled at him. In the week it had taken to ship out from the little town she called home, the prisoners had been kept separate from each other, denied all but two meagre daily meals and the occasional lavatory privilege. It was nice to speak to someone other than her jailer. Having always preferred to be solitary, she never suspected she would miss human interaction as much as she did captive aboard a pirate ship.

"How'd you end up getting caught by this lot?" She jerked her head in the direction of their two guards, who were now preoccupied gambling with two burly men from the stall across from theirs.

Graham pursed his lips with disdain. "They were camped near where I live and made the mistake of hunting the wolves of the forest instead of deer or rabbits. The hunting of wolves is not something I cannot abide by."

Emma looked at him questioningly and his expression darkened.

"The wolves are predator, not prey. And their numbers are few enough as it is with King George cutting down half the forest for lumber. These idiots decided they needed to hunt something more challenging than rabbit, so they went after the wolves. One wolf in particular, he is a friend of sorts to me," Grahams gaze grew distant. "When they hunt him, they hunt me. The wolf got away," he said, returning his sharp eyes to Emma. "But I did not."

Emma was not going to pretend she understood his entire story. Wolves were pack animals, exceedingly loyal to those of their pack and tended to avoid interaction with other animals, especially humans, except that of their prey. And this man was talking about them in a tone that Emma had often heard mothers use when speaking of their child; fond and loving and fiercely protective.

"It sounds like you did a very brave thing," she said carefully. "You must care for this wolf greatly."

Graham's mouth twitched into a smile. "It confuses you, I know. But yes, I do care for him and I would not take back any of my actions, even though I ended up here. I only hope he remains safe."

They were silent for a while, listening to the cries of the market. Prices of wares, the loud bickering of haggling, the occasional scream of a young or injured slave, and the general murmur of a thriving market took to the background of Emma's thoughts, wrapped up as she was in the possibilities that arose from Graham's tale.

Wolves and humans living together in harmony. How she would love to have a wolf as a companion. The captain could not have snuck up on her that night, as the wolf would've smelt him a mile off. Thieving would be a much easier task accompanied by one with the senses of a wolf. She could train it to alert her when someone was coming, or to smell out a prospective hit and see if anyone was inside. Certainly, none of the men at the tavern would give her any more grief if they knew that at any moment a wolf could come hurtling out of the dark and tear out their throats.

Yes, she would very much like a wolf.

"How about you?" asked Graham finally, pulling her from her reverie.

Emma shrugged. "Chose the wrong night and the wrong pirate ship to try and steal from. Got there when they were bringing you three back," she gestured to the others chained beside Graham. "The Captain captured me and brought me aboard and here I am."

"Your family must be worried sick," said Graham sadly.

"No family," said Emma with years of rehearsed lightness.

Graham stared at her impassively for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know how that feels."

"You have your wolves," she argued, desperate to turn the conversation away from any topic that would make Graham look at her with such pity in his eyes.

"Aye," he agreed. "That I do."

The day went slowly in terms of business. They were too far away from the centre of the marketplace to attract any decent attention from buyers; a fact which made Emma extremely happy and caused Smee to go around grumbling to himself and kicking clouds of dust into the air.

"The capt'n won't like this a' all," he said, gnashing his teeth together and talking to no one in particular. "Tha' storm delayed us and this is what we get from it! A rickety ol' tent a' the corner of the market!"

Emma listened to him talk to himself, desperate to pick up some information that might aid her escape.

"We'll have to get here early tomorrow. Before the sun, yes, before the sun. A tent right in the centre, tha'll make the capt'n happy."

From his ramblings Emma ascertained one thing. If she was to escape it had to be tonight, for if she was still captive by tomorrow she was most certainly going to be sold. And who knew what her buyer was going to be like, or if she'd ever get a good chance at escape again.

Come dusk the marketplace has begun to quieten down and Smee, calling his loses, unpegged the captives and led them back to the ship. Emma kept a sharp eye on the walk back for anything that might help her.

There were a group of tents erected separate to ones used to show wares, and Emma suspected that some slavers had not a ship or wagon to stay the night in. The tents were north of the market and the ship, and she made a mental note not to go in that direction come nightfall. To the south was a forest, populated mainly by young pines trees. Not particularly fantastic to hide in, but years of thieving meant that Emma could scale the side of a building in seconds. The pines would be no issue for her. Going through the forest was a safer bet than braving the road; a woman alone would attract far more attention than she needed and the fact that she was unarmed made her wary to risk anything. The location chosen for the marketplace, atop a cliff and overlooking a small cove, was well hidden from prying eyes and conveniently littered with many hiding places between the ship and the forest. Everything worked in Emma's favour. All she needed to worry about was getting off the ship unseen.

Emma had her chance quicker than expected, and from a source that she could not have foreseen. Around eight o'clock, after the pirates had dined and the captives were being served their regular meal of hard bread and cheese there was a commotion on deck. Men stomped from one side to another, calling urgently to one another and Emma could hear the Captain giving orders to anyone who would listen.

Smee jumped down the stairs outside Emma's "cabin" and stuck his head through the door.

"Upstairs, now," he said urgently to the man who was swapping out her empty plate for a new one. "The Capt'n wants all hands on deck. Half'a King Georges' army is here and the Capt'n means to set sail."

In their hurry neither man remembered to lock her door. Emma's heart leapt. This was her chance! In her rush to the door she forgot that she was still chained to the wall and was jerked back. In was in a groaning heap that Graham found her, grinning widely and holding a small wire.

"Need some help?" he asked and her grunt was all the permission he needed to fiddle with the locks on her chains and release her.

"Thanks," she said, rubbing her wrists. "How'd you get a hold of that?" she nodded to the wire in his hands.

"Had it on me the whole time, just needed an opportunity to use it. And the King's army ransacking an entire market of slavers is just as good as any. They'll be busy for hours. Let's go."

She followed him out of the brig, past the crew's quarters - and the stairs - and towards the Captain's quarters.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "The way out is _that_ way."

"Don't you want your belongings back?" he said over his shoulder, now picking the locks on the door. "Because they're in here. And I don't know about you, but I don't want Captain Jones," Graham spat the name out, "playing with my stuff."

"All right, all right. Just hurry!"

Their weapons were stashed in a chest at the foot of the bed, however Emma could only find three of her fives blades. The two she sheathed on her thighs, and the small dagger she stowed up her sleeve. She spent no time lamenting the loss. One weapon was considerably better than nothing, and she could always acquire more knives.

"Graham, hurry!" she implored. Graham was rooting around the cabin with a fervour that disturbed her.

"Wait," he growled, throwing her a glare over his shoulder. Emma flinched. Perhaps it was the moonlight, or the reflection from one of the torches, but Emma could've sworn that his eyes had taken on a more animalistic glow, like that of the wolves he was so fond of. In that moment the man was more beast than human. "Found it!" he exclaimed, pulling a necklace from a small box and stowing it in his shirt pocket. "Let's go."

Emma looked at him curiously but made no comment. She had no desire to see the rabid glow in his eyes again, and they had precious little time to waste on questions.

It was utter chaos on the deck. Gunshots echoed from both the pirate ship, and the shore, as both sides engaged in battle. There were already too many casualties and not enough men to provide any kind of substantial resistance to the King's army - not that Emma felt sorry for them in any way. They were pirates and slavers, and they had kidnapped her. Let them all die, for all she cared. Those that were alive tended to the injured or shot back. She could see Captain Jones on the poopdeck, crouched down and reloading his weapon while simultaneous roaring orders at whoever would listen. As the edged closer, keeping as low to the floor as possible, she could hear what he was saying and understood why there had been so many casualties. Someone had sabotaged their cannons and most of their guns, thus they had been entirely unprepared once the army had open fire. Emma had no time to consider this piece of information but stored it in the back of her mind for later consideration. If there had been a spy of King Georges' aboard the ship then that was something she wanted to know about.

Graham motioned to the starboard side of the ship, and then mimicked diving. Emma nodded, understanding. Jumping off the side facing away from the shore was their best chance of survival. They waited for a lull in the firing and then flung themselves over the side of the ship. As Emma braced for impact she heard Captain Jones shout out. Once she resurfaced, spluttering and shivering already, he was with them in the water, shaking his head and rubbing salt from his eyes.

"You won't get away," he said fiercely. Emma blinked at him, confused. But she realised he wasn't talking to her. He was talking to Graham.

"Swim, Emma!" cried Graham. And without a second thought she turned and put all her strength into reaching the shore.


End file.
